Nothing Left to Give
by Mmes Shanks et Talon
Summary: Dr. Hopper and Emma fight for the release of a patient from the psychiatric ward when they realize that the visions she has been seeing are echoes from another world.  What secrets will the town's newest resident uncover during her path to rediscovery?
1. Chapter 1

Belle stood looking out of the window of the tallest tower in her father's castle. It wasn't a large castle, but it allowed her a view of the village spread out in front of them. The townsfolk were bustling around, but there was a quick purposefulness to their steps that didn't usually exist. There was no gathering in the square, no gossiping outside the bakery. What she missed most however, was the sound of children playing. She had always taken it for granted as part of the background noise in the village, until it had suddenly disappeared. Nobody would take the risk now, not with the constant risk of impending war.

She forced herself to look up into the dark of the mountains that sat behind the village. Smoke had been rising from them for days now. Thick black plumes that brought with them a snow of ash that blew with the wind and settled in a gray layer over everything in sight. Sometimes on clear nights, they could even see the distant lick of orange flames on the horizon, burning through the tree lines. They could deny it no longer; war was coming, bringing death and destruction in its wake.

Her father had sent out riders with consignment scrolls to raise the militia, but Belle knew, deep down, that there was little hope. They had lost contact with the armies that had been sent into the mountain, and with it, their hopes had begun to fade. There had to be another way that her father's war council didn't _see. _The best solutions in history were those that the enemy never expected, and she was sure that they had missed something.

_Not that they had allowed her to participate in the conversation_, she thought, somewhat bitterly. Her betrothed, Gaston, had seen to that. He didn't believe that women had a place in war, despite the many peasant women throughout the realm that had been sent to their deaths fighting against the ogres. Her father, despite being a loving and doting man, had given in at his insistence, much to Belle's dismay.

In a way, she almost envied them their chance to defend their homes, their friends and family. Heroism was something that was not often spoken of in regards to females, and certainly not amongst those of her social station. Duty and honor had been her governing principles, which were admirable, to be sure. But they spoke nothing to her of _adventure_.

It was the one thing that she allowed herself to wish for, secretly at night when she was alone in her room. The kind of adventures in the books she read deep into the night in the dying embers of the fire. She heard the bards sing of it, heard the poems. Her own life however, seemed destined to becoming the dutiful daughter and wife. She sighed, thinking about how Gaston would feel if he ever knew her feelings on the matter.

She immediately she scolded herself for her misplaced longings. So many had died, and were continuing to die in vain against the ogres, and here she was wishing to be removed from the continued safety and shelter that the castle had provided her. _Until this point, anyways._ If the war continued on as it was, she was unsure how much longer they could continue to hold the borders.

_If there was only something__ that she could do_, she thought fretfully, turning away from scene before her. Her eyes fell on a gold tapestry hanging above the fireplace and she froze. She had heard whispers, as had most children, of a creature, somewhere between man and beast, that could spin straw into gold. She doubted it was anything more than a children's story of course, but it was said that he could make your deepest dream come true, for the right price. Some stories claimed he demanded all the gold of a kingdom, while others claimed that he stole and ate misbehaving children in the night. She guessed that the truth lay somewhere in the middle, not quite mercenary, but not a monster either. Her father's hold had been prosperous, and gold was one of the few resources they had. Perhaps there was a way in which to conjure such a fighter for their side?

_But what if he asks for something more?_, the tiny voice in her head whispered to her. How much would her father be willing to give? She sighed, rubbing a hand across her brow before looking back out the window. If their sacrifice saved the lives of everyone in the village below them, it _had_ to be worth it. Sometimes the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few.

Her mind decided, Belle snatched up her cloak and pulling her hood up, strode purposely out of the castle. Nobody stopped her, for which she was glad. If she had been questioned, she wasn't sure if her resolve would have stood. She walked through the quiet village, unnerved by the silence that had begun to settle as twilight began to fall. Quickening her steps, she headed towards the edge of the forest, where the small dwellings became more sparse on the landscape.

On the very edge of the forest, a small cabin sat alone, surrounded by an expansive garden. It had been one of Belle's favorite places when she was a child, and despite the circumstances, it still brought a smile to her face. Unlike the darkness of the village, Belle could see a cheery fire through the open shutters. Before she could even knock, the door flew open, a short stout little woman had enveloped her in a hug.

For as long as she could remember, Belle had called her Granny Rose. In truth, she had actually been her grandmother's sister. Belle, however, who never knew her maternal grandmother or her mother, considered Granny Rose to be the closest thing to a mother that she had ever known. What she _didn't_ know as a child was that Granny Rose was considered by most of the town to be a witch. While Belle knew this title meant little more than a greater understanding of the herbs and healing than most people, it was enough to make townsfolk whisper. While she knew her father was also wary of her, Belle also knew that what he didn't know could not possibly hurt him.

"Ach, girl, it's been too long since you've been to visit me," Granny Rose said, holding Belle at arm's distance so that she could look at her. "You look more like your mother every time I see you. She was always so thin too. I hope that father of yours is feeding you properly."

"Hi Granny," Belle said, smiling at her. "And yes, of course father is feeding me."

"Then you must be worried," Granny said shrewdly. "You never eat enough when you're worried. It's not good for you."

Belle sighed. "Yes, I've been worried," she admitted. "It's the reason I've come to talk to you, actually."

"Well, you best come in then," Granny replied. "I made stew for dinner. I had a feeling I'd be seeing you soon."

The two went into the small cottage, Belle being shooed into a seat at the table as Granny served them up a steaming bowl of stew with a hunk of warm bread and butter. She wasn't allowed to bring up the topic of the war before her plate was cleaned.

"So tell me what brought you here," Granny asked her, as she cleared away dinner.

Belle bit her lip, wondering how much she should say.

Granny smiled knowingly at her. "Let me guess, you are feeling helpless in the face of war. Your well-meaning father has been trying to shield you from the worst of it, but you've heard anyways. Am I right so far?"

Belle nodded..

"You aren't the type to come to me wanting a sleeping potion, so what is it? What kind of plan have you come up with?"

"Do you remember when I was a child, you used to tell me a story about the goblin that could turn straw into gold?" she asked, hesitatingly.

"Yes," Granny asked, careful not to betray any emotion in her voice. "Although he wasn't a goblin, despite what people say. I know what you're thinking Belle, and I will beg you not to think further of it."

Belle was taken aback. "I thought you'd understand," she asked, feeling her stomach sink.

"Oh, I do understand," Granny said, closing her eyes. "Better than you know. However, I also know that the deals that he makes are not to be taken lightly. He is an extremely dangerous man."

"So he _is_ real," Belle breathed, her eyes widening. "I wasn't sure until now."

"Oh, he's real," Granny confirmed. "But I am warning you that to call on him will not end well."

"I am prepared for whatever the consequences are," Belle said firmly.

"Of course you are dearie," Granny replied with a sigh. She knew Belle, probably better than she knew herself. She knew the firm set of her chin, and wished that she could stop the events that she saw unrolling before her. There were few people that she had seen it in, but she always knew that Belle had a touch of destiny about her. She had never spoken of it before, as destiny did not always provide those it touched with happy endings. Deep down, she wished that she had been mistaken. If she didn't tell Belle what she knew, it was very possible that greater harm would come to her in the end as she tried to obtain the information on her own.

"He is summoned by his name," Granny explained to her. "Although few know what it is. Names have power Belle, as I have always told you."

"Do you know what it is?" Belle asked her eagerly.

Granny closed her eyes again, sighing. "Yes, although I wish I did not."

"Will you tell me?" Belle's voice had lowered to an urgent whisper. She had a glint in her eye that Granny had never seen before. The feeling of _destiny_ once again filled the room. Granny wondered if Belle could feel it, the inevitable push towards a certain conclusion.

"If you ask it of me, I must," Granny replied sadly. "Although I will warn you that once you speak his name, a connection will exist between you that can't be broken."

"Please, tell me," Belle asked again.

Granny closed her eyes, and let out a sigh. Nothing was going to stop the storm that was coming. "Wait here," she told Belle.

Belle felt her heart racing as she watched Granny leave the room. _You can still turn back_, she told herself. She knew that she couldn't though. Whatever was about to happen, she was committed to it, heart and soul.

Granny returned a moment later, a small thin leather bound book in her hand. Belle took it, and watched as it fell open to a page with the illustration of a dagger on it. She traced the lettering across the dagger, sounding it out in her head, committing it to memory.

"_Rumpelstiltskin_,_" _she whispered.

Belle felt a shiver go through her as she said it, as if some unseen eye had turned towards her and had looked her through, measuring her. She quickly shut the book, but the name was burned into her mind as if it had been branded there. _Rumpelstiltskin._

As Belle said the name, Granny felt the tension in the air shift and resolve, although it did nothing for the dread that she felt in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't heard the name spoken aloud for over twenty years, and she had hoped with her deepest heart that she would never hear it again, especially from her dear Belle.

"Thank you Granny," Belle said, forcing herself to smile at the old lady while ignoring the fluttering in her chest. She wasn't sure why, but suddenly she wanted to be nowhere but in her room at the top of her father's castle, surrounded by a host of guards.

"Watch yourself Belle, my dear," Granny told her, reaching forward and clasping the girl's hand. "He'll know you now, if you call for him again."

Belle's smile faltered at her words, but she replaced it quickly. "I should probably get back to the castle. Father will be worried about me."

"I'll go with you," Granny said, pulling herself out of her chair. "You shouldn't be walking around by yourself after dusk."

"And you should?" Belle asked her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Please, I'll be fine."

Granny looked at her shrewdly. "I will see you as far as the town," she told her in a tone that brooked no argument. "Your father's guards should be able to see you from there."

"And what about you?" Belle asked her concernedly.

"I've been living on the edge of this forest for more years than you've been alive, my girl," Granny told her with a chuckle. "You can trust me that they'll want nothing to do with an old lady like myself."

The two walked together in silence through the garden. The sky was still tinged with the dusky pink of twilight as they reached the edges of the village. Guards were already patrolling the streets, lighting lamps as they went.

"Take care Belle," Granny told Belle again, enveloping her in a hug. "And whatever you do, don't act out of desperation. You'll need a clear head in the days to come."

Granny watched as a member of the guard escorted her up to the castle. She felt a wave of sadness wash through her, although she couldn't say why. She wished more than anything that she could tell her more of what she knew, but it would be of little use. Destiny would have its way.

He had made sure of that.


	2. Chapter 2

Emma stared out the kitchen window from her seat at Mary Margaret's wooden dining table, watching the haze of twilight vanish as the weather continued to go from bad to worse.

"You barely beat the sleet," Mary Margaret commented as she walked to the stove to silence the whistling kettle.

"That wind was bad enough trying to get home from the station," she replied, handing Mary Margaret the over-sized gray teacup with "Emma" emblazoned on it in a deep blue with Henry's careful but wobbly script. It had been his Christmas present to her.

Mary Margaret began pouring their tea. "I think it started yesterday with that odd _stillness_ that settled in after you ran out of Granny's. Did you feel it? It was like the calm before a thunderstorm, but no storm." She finished filling her own lavender over-sized cup with "Ms. Blanchard" in the same blue writing, and joined Emma at the table.

"I don't know," Emma replied, "but it was absolutely freezing by the time I made it up to that cabin in the middle of nowhere." She took a tentative sip of tea. "I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me as soon as a took a breath."

"But then _nothing_ happened until this afternoon," Mary Margaret added as she sprinkled sugar into her cup.

"Yeah, right as I got back to the station with Henry and it went from gray and still to black and rumbling in five minutes time," Emma added.

Mary Margaret frowned. "What kind of storm in the middle of winter stays in a holding pattern that long? You'd think it was waiting for something."

"Yeah," Emma grumbled. "It was waiting for to Mr. Gold saunter off into the gloom before drenching me as soon as soon as I stepped out the door."

"You let him _go?"_ Mary Margaret asked, shocked.

"What choice did I have? He made bail not long after his _chat_ with Regina. One of his goons dropped the money off. And French has, of course, declined to press charges." Emma sighed. "And since his hospital stay was less than 24 hours, according to the town statutes, the sheriff's office cannot make a formal complaint to a judge declaring Gold a threat to the town. Gold of course had that particular paragraph memorized and the goon was kind enough to bring a copy with him."

Mary Margaret gave her a sympathetic look.

"Some sheriff I am when the criminals have more of the law on their side than I do," she mumbled as she flopped a dollop of honey into her mug.

"Speaking of criminals," Mary Margaret replied, "what did Regina want with him?"

"Henry had more luck on that front than I did," Emma answered ruefully. "Swore he heard Regina talking to someone about Gold on the phone the night before the theft when he was suppose to be asleep." She added another spoonful of honey. "My best guess is that she put French up to it in the first place. Still don't know why. And I still don't know what the hell set Gold off, but he definitely wasn't wailing on French just for stealing a few knickknacks."

The sleet pounding outside abruptly grew louder. And suddenly, gumball sized hail began dropping from the sky. The two women stood and peered out the window at the gray haze as lightning flashed repeatedly. They stood listening...waiting for a thunderclap they both assumed to be nearby. But nothing came. Emma shrugged.

"You didn't get anything out of either of them I take it?" Mary Margaret asked, returning to the subject at hand.

"Unfortunately listening outside the office door is not the most effective method of investigation when dealing with people who like to deliver their threats in monotone sneers instead of yelling...Whatever they said, it didn't improve either of their moods." Emma slumped back in her chair. "Maybe I need to start bugging my own damned office."

"You know," Mary Margaret paused for a moment, clearly mulling something over, "that really might be a good idea. Being peacemaker in between that kind of crossfire is hard enough even when you _know _what's going on."

Emma sighed. "Well I need _something_ to get me off the barrel Regina has me over. And Sidney is no use at this point, not that I entirely trust him to be in the future."

"I wonder-" Mary Margaret started, but just then the phone began to ring. She could just reach it on the counter from her seat as she leaned backwards precariously in her chair. "Hello?...oh hello Archie...yes, yes she's right here, hang on." She handed the phone to a worried Emma.

"What's wrong? Is Henry-" she started as soon as she pressed the phone to her ear. But then Emma went silent, and her eyebrows furrowed closer and closer together. Mary Margaret stood up and moved to leave the kitchen, giving Emma some privacy, but she waved Mary Margaret back.

"Yeah, alright. I'll see what I can dig up...No, you might as well come here, at least we'll know no one is listening at the door...Yup...bye." Emma hung up the phone and turned to roommate. Mary Margaret waited expectantly.

"He didn't want to say much on the phone, but apparently he needs some help with something to do with the psych ward at the hospital. He needs information on any town statutes that mention psychiatric patients."

Mary Margaret frowned. "I don't think I've even seen the psych ward." she paused. "I can't even remember any of the staff even _mentioning_ a psych ward in all the times I've been there. How did I never notice that?"

"Sounds like they've been keeping it pretty quiet," Emma replied. "No doubt that was Regina's doing. Anyways he's stopping over tomorrow after work."

"It's just...I've been all over that hospital," Mary Margaret continued, still perplexed by the gaping hole in her memory. I don't even think there are _signs_ for it. I wonder who is-"

A thunderous _BOOM_ finally erupted overhead. They looked out the window once again. No lightning followed, but the hail stopped suddenly, and then resumed with a new fervor, now a mixture of heavy rain and and some larger golf ball-sized pieces. The roommates looked at each other, eyebrows raised in a mirrored perplexed expression. Had anyone been looking at them they might have mistaken the two for sisters.

"Are the storms usually this..._odd_?" Emma asked finally.

"We've had nasty ones before but nothing quite as...changeable as this," she replied.

The wind picked up again, now howling more fiercely than it ever had before.

"Alright," Emma said decisively as she stood and headed for the small lower cupboard next to the sink. When she returned to the table a bottle of Jameson was in her hand. Before Mary Margaret could object she'd poured a generous helping into both their mugs. "I think I'm done with today," she finally concluded.

Mary Margaret finally sighed and nodded in agreement.

The two sat at the table for a while longer, mulling over the oddities of the last few days. After another refill of tea and whiskey the two women migrated to the living room couch and found themselves staring at the storm out of Mary Margaret's picture window and half watching a black and white version of _Little Women_. It wasn't long before ice cream and popcorn appeared on the coffee table.

"So," Emma finally ventured, "I see you and David have started a book club."

Mary Margaret blinked in surprise, her eyes widening involuntarily and her cheeks instantly turned a particularly bright shade of red.

"I um, well Anna Karenina is one of my favorites and he asked for a book recommendation when we ran into each other at the library," she replied hastily, blushing harder at Emma's raised eyebrow. "Really, I was just being friendly," she concluded lamely, focusing her attention determinedly at the television screen.

"Mmmm," was all Emma said before popping a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

Mary Margaret bit her lip but kept her eyes on the screen where figures twirled around a dance floor in Civil War era garb. The two continued to stare silently until-

"Wait a minute, is Beth actually _dying_?" Emma asked suddenly. She turned to look at her roommate, who was already using her sleeve to wipe the corner of her eyes.

"Wait," Mary Margaret replied, a slight hitch in her voice, "you didn't know? I thought you knew _Little Women_."

"No I haven't seen it before," Emma answered in a pained voice. "I thought she just got sick the ONE time."

Mary Margaret shook her head as she reached for a tissue. "She manages to hold on until Jo gets back home."

"That's terrible," Emma said, her face betraying obvious shock.

"I know," Mary Margaret sniffed, "but at least she's with someone she loves when it happens."

"I need more whiskey for this," Emma replied as she hastily dove back into the kitchen for the bottle and their mugs."

She poured them both a generous dose and Mary Margaret threw her heavy red blanket over both their legs after Emma handed off the mug and repositioned herself on the couch. The two of them sat, legs tucked under themselves in exactly the same way, transfixed and choked up as a raven haired girl wept at her sister's bedside.

Outside the storm continued its strange lament, with long howling gusts of wind and brief bursts of heaving rain. Slowly two women slumped further into the couch as the movie reached its conclusion but and neither seemed able to close their eyes entirely until it finished. At which point the wind gave a particularly anguished groan.

"You'd think the storm was mourning someone too," Mary Margaret mumbled as she finally drifted off.


	3. Chapter 3

_Rumpelstiltskin._

He turned, like a hound catching the scent of prey on the wind. Like a twisted prayer, his name whispered across miles, calling to him. A slow smile spread across his face as he skipped a step. This was his favorite part, before he knew who would be calling on him. Like a subtle little flirtation, a glance across a crowded room, it spoke of promises yet to come.

Of course he knew it was probably another distraught farmer's daughter suffering under the yoke of a new stepmother while pining for some country prince. It actually disappointed him, the absolute mundanity of a place so otherwise steeped in magic. There was always a dragon to be slain, a fair maiden to be rescued. Always ending in so many pleas for mercy in the face of _true love_. He bared his teeth in a hiss; as if _that_ were a reason to break a bargain that had already been struck. Magic _always_ had its price. A warning he told every one of his potential _customers_. If they did not like the price, they did not have to strike the deal. However, when each party possessed something the other wanted badly enough, a deal could always be struck. It was amazing how desperation consistently brought out the worst of humanity. _Just as it brought out yours_, a small voice in his head whispered.

The pull of his name tugged again, and he smiled, his momentary irritation forgotten. He could always _pretend_ that this one would be different. No desperate bargaining, no selfish motivation.

Sighing, he pulled out a small mirror from his pocket, the only reflection he ever dared to trust, enchanted as it was against the Queen's prying eyes.

"Show me," he whispered, running his hand over the face of the mirror. It was dark for a minute, but in a moment the glass cleared to reveal a bucolic scene; cottages outlined by a brilliant sunset, and a young woman with eyes the color of a summer sky. He frowned. She did not seem to be troubled in any extraordinary way that would require his unique services. There were no tears, no signs of familial abuse, and no outward signs of poverty. In fact, if he had to fancy a guess at the girl's mood, it was…triumphant and _relieved_.

Not once in the many years he had been in the business of dealing bargains had he seen someone relieved to see him. Wary, worried, sick, crying, dying, certainly. But relieved? He blinked. Frankly, it was slightly disturbing.

He wiped the mirror with his hand again and the image cleared. Tonight he had other things to worry about. With a small wave, the door to his tower opened, a wave of magic releasing the wards securing it. He kept his most vile creations locked away here, curating them for future use. It was amazing, the breadth of human creativity in causing each other pain and misery. He was merely the broker.

This particular little _project_ was particularly nasty. Seemingly innocuous, the softly simmering cauldron smelled like bluebells and honey. However, upon imbibing the smallest thimbleful, the drinker would immediately _forget_. The specifics of the potion however, were more vague. Activated by the essence of an individual person, it was not guaranteed how _much_ a person would forget. Such a highly prized commodity, he mused, the ignorance of a spotless mind. He preferred to keep his memories close to him, wrapped around him like a cloak. He had made many mistakes in his long lifetime, but he knew better than to make the same one twice.

He frowned as he absentmindedly stirred the potion, his mind drifting back to the girl in the mirror. How had she even gotten a hold of his name? There were very few places in the realm where such information would even exist outside of folklore and hearsay. He shuddered to think what would happen if every peasant with a problem started calling on him unsolicited. Names had power, and his more than most.

Grimacing, he straightened up. This would just not do. He needed to find out more about her, preferably before she decided to call on him again.

Besides, everyone has their price, and he would find hers. He always did.


End file.
